


World on Fire

by Exophile_3D (bearbane)



Category: Original Work
Genre: Black Lagoon - Freeform, Blowjobs, Erotica, Escapism, Exophilia, F/M, Fantasy, Human/Monster Romance, Inspired by The Shape of Water (2017), Monster Lover, Oral Sex, Penis In Vagina Sex, Sex, Teratophilia, Vaginal Sex, fishman, merman
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-13
Updated: 2020-09-13
Packaged: 2021-03-06 21:48:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,037
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26445874
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bearbane/pseuds/Exophile_3D
Summary: One-shot request fic for a Tumblr friend who asked for something with a fishman when I threw out a request for monster boyf fic ideas. Inspiration for this fic is brought to you by that pic someone shared the other day for the Shape Of Water-themed dildo on Etsy. 0.0
Relationships: Original Female Character(s)/Original Male Character(s)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 40





	World on Fire

**Author's Note:**

> El Mundo en Llamas.   
> “Waking from my sleep to find the world’s on fire…” - Breed 77

It’s hard being a woman in the twenty-first century.   
  
You strive to live up to the ‘living your best life’ mantra touted by Oprah and her acolytes, and every magazine for the upwardly mobile female in the 21st century has become divine scripture to you. You do your online learning to stay ahead of the game, you donate money and time to the needy, you exercise, you cleanse, you alternate between Paleo and Atkins and Keto. But you have zero time for you, for the creative bent you spent your childhood indulging, for finding a partner, or group of friends to share your life with. This is what today’s world of the emancipated female demands of you. No longer expected to stay at home, serve a man and raise a brood, it seems while the expectations of the modern woman have changed, they are no less exigent. 

You threw out most of your novels years ago when you realised you were never going to have time to read them all, and besides, the textbooks, non-fiction best-sellers and self-help manuals you hoarded were far more useful for moving ahead in the game of life. And that in itself is an irony: you no longer game, you no longer create, either alone or collaboratively, and worse, you no longer have the time or energy to even crave it. 

But recently, there has been a new presence in your life, an inner voice that whispers to you of lost desire and your apostate muse. It haunts the moments before sleep, murmuring of escape, of far-off lands touched by magic and the fabulous vistas you once created in the fertile landscapes of your mind. It whispers to your of your regrets. It knows your inner troubles. It encourages you to move beyond the trappings and restrictions of mundane life and dive again into the comforting realms of fantasy. 

As the days go by, you are sorely tempted. A single glance at the morning news feed is enough to convince you that the world is burning. It makes you want to scream ‘stop the world - I want to get off!” at anyone who might be listening, and worse, the searing temperatures steal your sleep and leave you a frayed mess to face the endless labours of your day.

One night, as you toss and turn alone in your bed beneath a revolving ceiling fan, sticky and annoyed at the relentless heat, the voice returns, stronger and clearer than ever. Its message is unequivocal.   
  
_“Take back what was lost. Reclaim your soul_.”

Grumpy and irritable at this disembodied voice spouting unwanted advice at 3am when you’re trying to sleep, you murmur, “I don’t have time for that.”  
  
“ _Time is our servant. We have but to bend it to our will_.”   
  
You have had similar hallucinations before, where you are half awake and half asleep and convinced your discarded socks are talking to you, but still, it is the most interesting conversation you’ve had today, so you’re less concerned than you should be. “I don't know how,” you reply.   
  
“ _I will help you_.” The voice lulls and sooths you with its nebulous promise and brings you to the brink of sleep. One last phrase echoes in your head as your eyes close.

“ _All you have to do is say the word_.”  
  
A few nights later, during your scheduled late visit to the gym, you change into your swimming costume and stand at the side of the pool for a moment, gazing into the blue depths. You focus on the gentle undulations of the water, taking in the stink of chlorine, the chill of the stippled tiles underfoot, the harsh fluorescent light, and the words come back to you as though borne on the fake waves. Reclaim your soul.   
  
You half-smile to yourself. You allow your thoughts to wander free for the first time in ages, and permit a single idea to germinate in your mind. How much more would you relish jumping into the water if it were a pond in a woodland grove with a gently tinkling waterfall, lit by dappled sunlight, with croaking frogs basking on lily-pads? You shake your head and strap on your goggles. _All you have to do is say the word._  
  
"Yes," you think to yourself, going so far as to form the word with your mouth. It's a little demonstration of rebellion; an indulgence that goes against all the sterile, unimaginative efficiency of your life. You dive into the swimming pool and stay beneath the water for a few heartbeats, turning lazily to look at the wavering lines of the strip lights above. The undulating motion becomes stronger, as though some other force acts on the surface. The view above ripples and changes, and as you come up for air, you see not the echoing steel-and-plastic cavern of the local gym, but a sunlit grove with a waterfall gently feeding a pool covered in lilies. Your goggles instantly steam up. Wiping them clean with your fingers, you wonder if you dived into the wrong end by accident and hit your head on the bottom of the pool. If so, you hope you can stay in this blissful state of unconsciousness for a little while longer. The scene is breathtaking, straight out of a Victorian forest idyll painting, and as well as the rambling multi-hued flowers, the mossy rocks and the softly whispering trees, it houses one other surprise.  
  
_He_ is there. He lounges at the opposite side of the pool, arms up at shoulder height resting on the bank either side of him, relaxed and waiting patiently. When he is sure he has your attention, he sinks beneath the surface and you track the slender shadow through the depths until he emerges, trilling little bubbles of air with his mouth still beneath the surface. You know instinctively that it is his voice you have heard before he even talks, and his eyes speak as loud as any words, ripe with hidden knowledge. He rises from the blue-green water inches from your face to loom over you, inclining his neck to maintain eye contact. 

“You came.” 

His voice hits somewhere between baritone and tenor, and for a moment you can’t decide which. Realisation dawns a moment later - it is both: a dual vocalisation of sounds that come out in harmony, performing a little symphony for the ear. You draw breath to respond, then lose your train of thought as you take in the creature’s form in more detail. Voice aside, he is unmistakably male in shape, with broad, sleekly muscled shoulders and sturdy pectorals. You cannot see far below his chest due to his proximity and the level of the water, and for that you are both grateful and shamefully disappointed. His skin shimmers in shades of iridescent green, apart from his abdomen, what little you can see of it, which appears to have a fading red-to-orange gradient that reminds you of the threat colours you’ve seen in nature. The colours are opposites, but they look right on him, and suit the duality you’ve already observed in his voice. A shy glance at his face shows large, bright, intelligent eyes, the tiniest of noses, barely a bump on his slender face, and a broad mouth with lips of the palest green.

Belatedly, you realise he is awaiting a response, and you have paused for far longer than is polite. He may think you’re ignoring him and your years of training on social and business niceties come to the fore. But what do you say to a being who has somehow helped you cross into another reality and is now standing naked in a waterfall plunge pool trying to start a conversation with you?

“You made an offer I couldn’t refuse.” You kick yourself mentally for such a clichéd response, but he glosses over it.

“One you have been resisting for too long.” His hand comes up to your face and you flinch back on instinct, jerking your head away from the chartreuse, vicious-looking claws. His finger catches in the strap of your goggles, and as you move your head, they spring off to dangle from his pinky. You had completely forgotten you were wearing them. You have been standing here in a woodland fantasy with a creature from another world, wearing your £2.99 yellow goggles from Bargains Galore. Your face turns scarlet.

He tosses them onto the bank and his face splits in a grin at your flushed cheeks. You nearly desert your skin then as his arms slip beneath yours and, gripping lightly, he pulls you with him as he pushes off into the pool to float on his back. You take a hold of him in a similar fashion, separated from the ridges and bumps of his torso only by the thin material of your bather. He is hard all over, although you are quick to note the lack of a certain hardness that you might expect from being so close to him. He shores at the opposite bank and he turns you so you are lying with your back to his chest, enfolded in his arms. Although you have never met him before today, his presence is both familiar and comforting, and at a single prompt from him, you begin to speak. You talk for hours and you tell this amazing listener of your regrets, your unfulfilled desires and your dissatisfaction with life. Here in this cool woodland realm, lit by leaf-filtered sunlight, you have finally found an escape, an antidote to the fiery ball of fuckery your planet has become. Every morning you wake to find the world on fire once again, either in the figurative or the literal sense, with politicians driven only by self-interest ignoring or denying it. Here, none of that matters. Here all is serenity: cool, calm and pleasing.

As you unburden yourself, his scaled hands stroke against you, both above and below the water. His forearms are ridged with a fluted flange, a feature that is repeated at the back of his head and shoulders, and each of them is a translucent blue-green that foils the eye. His touch calms and soothes at first, but soon you begin to wish that touch was more intimate. You are achingly aware of the solid, cool length of him pressed against your back, and you feel a connection with him so strong that you want to experience it in other ways. No sooner has the thought taken shape than he does just that, as though he has a window into your soul. His hands glide up across your abdomen to curve around your breasts, tightening against the hard nubs that protrude beneath the slick, black material that covers them. You falter, words deserting you, and he lowers his head across your shoulder, angling for a kiss. His lips are cool and slick and his tongue darts between your lips in motions that remind you of tiny shoaling fish speeding from place to place. 

A sharp tooth grazes your lip as you turn to press more fully against him, and you pull back, tasting blood. His eyes flicker with remorse, and he presses a thumb against it lightly, causing an electric tingle. When you touch your tongue to the spot again, the split, the blood, and the sting are gone. Before you have a chance to evaluate that, he turns you in his arms and positions you so you straddle his pelvis at an angle beneath the water where he leans against the bank. To your disappointment, you can still feel nothing where you would expect a cock to be, but you suppose it’s probably for the best: in all likelihood, you’re actually on the floor next to the pool with some paramedic administering CPR, and you worry that you might suddenly start making inappropriate noises. He catches your chin in forefinger and thumb then and tilts your face to look at him. The look on his face is both wicked and promising. _He knows something you don’t_. 

He turns his attention to your one-piece then, hooking a thumb under the straps that secure it to your shoulders and sliding them slowly down your arms. You shiver as the cool pool water flows unrestricted against your skin and you instantly long to be rid of the other half of it. He helps remove it and tosses it to the bank with your goggles. You feel freer than you have in years, and your legs float about his as he lowers his head to your breast and begins to slide a rough but agile tongue around your nipple. You tense a little. You know from experience how sharp those teeth are and you push at his shoulders to discourage him. He looks up at you, eyes dark with delight and purposely closes his mouth over the hard little nub. You jolt with mixed desire and fear, breathlessly waiting for the sharp sting of his teeth, but it doesn’t come; only a steadily increasing suction, and a steadily increasing tingle of pleasure. 

He switches to the other side, one hand pressed against the middle of your back, where you can feel the indent of five claw-tips, and the other palming your free breast. Your face flushes with need and you begin to pull at his ridged, scaly shoulders and press your groin hard against his midriff. He releases your nipple with a pop and brings his face close to yours, sounding out that clicking trill you heard when he was submerged earlier. With that same shark-like grin rounding his lips, he releases you and lifts himself out onto the bank so you can see him for the first time from the ribcage down. Water coruscates over his glistening hide, gleaming in greens, reds and yellows and outlining the unfamiliar musculature of his abdomen. Where the water hits the ground between his legs, he is as smooth as you feared, with not a trace of anything familiar. You swallow down your disappointment until he takes your hand and presses it there, encouraging you with a gentle stroking motion. 

Just as you’re starting to wonder if that’s how he’s built and deciding that if this is what pleases him, then you’re more than happy to oblige, his skin splits under your fingers and for a second, you wonder if you’ve harmed him. A glance down confirms otherwise. A vent is opening between his legs, and to your delight, something promisingly penis-like is beginning to emerge, slick and glistening, from its hiding place. Emboldened, you reach out your hand, but are suddenly afraid that you might grab or pull it when it should be left to slide free on its own, and so you opt for the safer option. You press up against the bank and wrap your arms around his thighs, lowering your head to the opening slit in his skin. You reach out with your tongue and lick slowly around the head, finding it remarkably similar in texture to a human’s. As it enlarges and pushes out however, you realise that that is where the similarity ends. Just below the head is a fluted ridge, angled and larger on the side closest to his body. You raise your eyebrows and look up at your companion, who returns your gaze with a smug one of his own. His secret is out.

You take the head into your mouth, where the little ridge slides in easily, but because of its shape, it locks against the back of your teeth as you slide it back out. You freeze, not because of its position in your mouth - you can easily remove it if you open a little wider, but because your brain starts to imagine what that would feel like if it was elsewhere inside you. Would it drag against your inner walls, causing little bursts of unexpected sensation? And what if it hit that special spot? It’s not something you’re intimately familiar with, but you know the theory, and something driven more by instinct than knowledge inside you insists that yes indeed this little ridge will be a g-spot master. He derails your lusty thoughts then as more of his member pushes out from within its sheath and into your mouth. With a little murmur of delight, you turn your attention back to him, to pleasing him, and exploring this wonderful and unexpected experience. You run your tongue against the head again, swirling it in circles and licking around the ridge even as you suck at it. You’re pleased to note that you can keep your head still as you do so, as more and more of his length is issuing from his body and gliding eagerly into your waiting mouth. 

Your eyes widen in surprise as more of the little ridges present themselves the deeper he presses, and his shaft appears to thicken further down. It fills you deliciously, but you cannot help but thought—drift to what this monster will feel like sheathed between your legs. You moan at the thought, causing a gasp from your companion and a heavy, clawed hand comes to rest and tangles in your hair. The pressure is not intense, but nonetheless another inch roots itself in your mouth until the head is butting your throat. The thought of that flange in your airway freezes your blood and with a gentle stroke, he eases you off his dick. You stare. It might be rude but you’re both curious and turned on by it. It is exactly as you expected from having it embedded in your mouth: slender at the tip but widening significantly towards the base, and ridged at intervals with soft, bumpy lines that you know are going to cause merry hell with your insides. It is coloured in the same patterns as his abdomen, red at the top, fading to a burnt umber at its base, and you goggle at it with your mouth slack.

That trilling noise emanates from him again, and you realise he is laughing at your reaction. You give him a mock-scowl and he plunges back into the water in front of you, capturing you in his arms again. This time, you can feel the solid shape of him against your belly, and while this feels a little more normal, given the sight you’ve just seen, you’re in uncharted waters. He raises you by the hips then and you throw your arms around his shoulders for support. This close, you can make out the individual scales in his face, see the flecks of gold in his blue-black eyes, and the gills at his throat, closed now that he is out of the water. His tip presses against you. You’re more than ready for this physically but there is no small amount of concern in your eyes as he pulls down on your hips, gravity foiled by the buoyancy of the water. He smiles reassurance and leans down for a kiss that becomes deep and wet while his cock begins to plunder your depths. It slides in easily at first, your lips expanding as the first two ridges squeeze past, then clamping back down onto his shaft. As he continues to pull down on you, however, each inch becomes a new experience, a new ordeal to be undergone. The thickening width of his cock causes a tightening sensation in your lips, and as each new ridge stretches you wider before embedding itself in your walls, you begin to groan against his mouth. 

His tongue is ceaselessly moving, turning and flipping against yours like an excited porpoise in a boat wake, and you try to answer the demands of his mouth, but there’s just too much sensation elsewhere and you throw your head back as he bottoms out, the whole of his exotic member buried in you to the root. You raise your head when your brain has come to terms with the alien presence, and you see your hunger, your need mirrored on his expressive face. You swallow your trepidation and accept the challenge: the paramedics will just have to cope with the fact you’re having a wet dream. He holds your hips firmly, gauging your readiness with an inquisitive tilt of his head. You’re practically burning with combined need and curiosity now and you nod frantically, latching onto his shoulders with a death-grip. He begins to withdraw and you were absolutely one hundred percent right. Those ridges rub against you everywhere they touch you inside as he draws them against your walls. They pop out of you one by one, leaving you exponentially less fulfilled with each withdrawal. At the nadir of his stroke he engages your lips again and without missing a beat, pushes back hard against his grip on your hips and buries himself in you to the hilt. Each ridge hits you _just so_ and by the time his hips smack into yours you’re shaking violently in a wave of pleasure you couldn’t have stopped if you’d tried. 

He picks up a rhythm, recapturing your lips every time you break away to gasp or vent the intensity of the experience, until you’re almost drowning in delight. He is pulling his midriff back with the downstroke of every thrust now, and pulling your hips from him at the same time, so that the inward stroke is even more intense. You aid him as much as you can with your mind collapsing into so much erotic mush, adding your own impetus to the thrusts, and you gather speed, pounding against each other with the beat and force of breakers crashing on rocks. He pulls away from your lips then to meet your gaze as he takes you with him to the very crest of pleasure’s wave, his eyes paradoxically glazed and intense, and he throws his head back, making that trilling sound again, but this time with his combined baritone and tenor vocals behind it. It is the sweetest sound you’ve ever heard. Abruptly, you plunge beneath the water, his heavy body on top of you and as the movement steals your breath, everything hits a new level of intensity. Your entire body convulses in the throes of insane pleasure, his ridged cock not letting up for one instant as it shoots currents of ecstasy through every inch of you. 

He pulls you to the surface a heartbeat later, and you cling to him, panting and shuddering, still befuddled by the amount of pleasure you feel with his exotic length embedded in you. You raise your head from his shoulder and look at him, seeing the relief and happiness on your face reflected in his huge eyes. He evidently likes the taste of your lips, for that is what occupies the majority of the subsequent few minutes, and slowly, you feel him shrink within you and withdraw back into his body, leaving you hollow and sorrowful. 

You laze together on the bank for a while, listening to the tinkling of the little waterfall and the cheerful croaking of the frogs, and indulging yourselves in touches and kisses. You know deep down however that your time here is limited. When you ask him about it, he confirms your fears and informs you that when you go back, no time will have passed, and you can resume the course of your normal life. Before you can sink into depression, he also informs you that you can return any time, and expect a warm welcome. _All you have to do is say the word_. Already your muse is back in residence and you have plans for seventeen stories that feature magical groves, journeys to other worlds, or fantasy lovers. You also have ideas for artwork featuring your new companion, and you suspect those will keep your muse busy for months. You have already resolved to stop listening to Oprah, switch your subscriptions from Modern Woman to Fortean Times, and take up reading for fun again. The world might be on fire, but here in the cool, watery grove, where your mysterious aquatic lover waits for you, you have found once more your means to deal with it.


End file.
